Innocence
by Mistress Mills
Summary: Rumplestiltskin has to save his beloved Cora from herself before she can give herself to him. But in doing it, he makes her innocent and enters a vow to keep her that way against all the odds. The Dark Queen can never kill again or else she will die. Can he protect her without losing himself in the process?
1. Saving innocence

**I don't own OUAT**

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She was beautiful. He simply couldn't believe that such a beautiful girl could love someone as ugly as he. After all, the last woman who had loved him fell so quickly out of love. He had never been a handsome man, but the scaly skin he now had could not have been an advantage to his looks. He couldn't lose another love. This one was so stronger, stronger than his love for Milah had ever been. She chose him wholeheartedly, knowing the evil and the good. If he was to lose that kind of love that accepted him more than any other, he would never be able to go on. But he had learned with Milah that holding too tightly only served to drive her away. He would not use this child to replace his first, but the thought of being a father again was magnificent. He knew that his curse was the only way he could get Bae back, but there had to be a way to do it and keep his family intact. He could have his happily ever after with her. With them.

It was so simple. All they had to do was get away from King Xavier's castle. He had his own castle for his dearest Cora to live in, and if her lust for power was strong enough, they had more than enough power together to get her a kingdom of her own. She would be the Dark Queen, his bride. No doubt he would still be known as the Dark One; she was one of perhaps five alive who knew his true name. All the better for him. Power came from the unknown. The people would fear an entity they could only call by a title so ominous as 'the Dark One' infinitely more than one with a man's name. He would continue to be the most feared beast in all the realms, but he would have her with him. Her and their beautiful daughter. Regina- the name he knew would be given to the girl; Cora couldn't resist a name of power- would be the most powerful in all the realms. As beautiful as her mother with the strength of them both.

He was planning this perfect life by the tree they had agreed to meet at. His dreaming preoccupied him, but he was not blind to the passage of time that was so worrying. They had planned to meet at sunset, but the sun had vanished quite some time prior. Killing one man would not take this long, even as a novice. As he worried, he took up pacing, a habit from his humanity that slipped into him on occasion. There were only two options: she had been caught or she had changed her mind. Was it wrong of him to hope it was the former? The night crept along slowly, the only sounds coming from the rustling of leaves in the wind and the chirps of crickets. It had grown quite dark, but he could still make out shadows. Hers wasn't coming. The night faded into day and she was still not there. As he stared at the streaks of red shooting through the dark sky, he could not help but worry. It was a beautiful sunrise, but all it managed to do was make him worry at the color of it. Red. Red was never favorable for mornings, but it was an omen as well. Red symbolizes blood, something he was starting to imagine covering her body as his mind went into a panic. She would at least tell him if she simply decided not to come, would she not?

Trumpets sounded, and men's voices could be heard calling out into the night. He drew up his hood instinctively before taking off at a run toward the castle. He knew what those screams meant, but he tried to block them out. The ringing of bells denied him his ignorance. It was a tolling first for the royal- low, somber sounds sounding out in thirty-two tolls. Each toll represented one year of the dead king's life. That meant that she had succeeded, something that could either be something amazing or terrible. The power it would require was tremendous, enough to make her exhausted enough to be captured. That was the good possibility. The other was that she had been able to kill him, but not without letting the madness into her heart. It was a madness he had accepted long enough, only put off by the constant spinning that helped him to forget all of the terrible things he had done. Something so beautiful could not be made by one so horrid. Beauty was the only thing that kept his own madness at bay, but the thought of hers being destroyed shattered his soul. Why had he let her do it alone? The bells rang out again, these a higher pitched set that rung out four times. Execution bells. Cora.

He sped up as he ran to her, to the castle's gallows. She was already there, held up by two heavily armed guards. There were cuts across her cheeks that looked much like claw marks, rather than any formed by a blade in a scuffle. Her hair was destroyed, matted with strands that were so damaged they did not reach her shoulders, much less the bottom of her hair. The princess dresses he had become accustomed to seeing her in had been stripped from her, replaced with a sack of a dress. There was a fire in her expression that seemed to dare each and every person present to try to kill her. But the defiance was killed simply by glancing in her eyes. Upon further examination, it became obvious that the men truly were holding her up. She looked too weak to stand alone. This was not simply going to be a case of saving the girl and sweeping her off her feet. He had to save her from herself.

"We have been betrayed. The royal family allowed a commoner into our midst, gracious enough to allow you all a voice. She has betrayed you as she has us by rejecting this opportunity. Our King has been killed by the people's voice. She has chosen her own fate. The only question is whether you all must pay for your representative's actions. Turn against your kingdom or turn against her. Make your choice!"

The crowd roared, screaming "Kill her", throwing whatever was nearest. She didn't flinch at the onslaught of things thrown at her, ranging from tomatoes to glass and stones. He tried to keep the worst from hitting her, but a large stone got past him, hitting her just above her right right. She kept on staring with her haunted eyes. They were not the eyes of a living woman, rather those of a living corpse. They were the most terrifying part of this entire encounter. Her guards dragged her forward as the herald raised his hand.

"Very well. You have made your choice." It seemed they were done with torturing her. Now was the time they would give her a simple death. She had already been disgraced; death was all they had left to do to her. She was pushed down to her knees, head to the ground. It was hardly something they needed to be so rough with her with. Her body was slack enough to have fallen into position in its own. The executioner sharpened his blade, preparing for a clean blow. That was the kindest thing they had ever offered Cora. It was not enough. The brutes holding his lover tightened their grips, expecting her to struggle; he knew better. She wanted them to kill her. This was the only desire of his he would ever deny. He strode up to the platform, unnoticed due to his glamour. As he took it down, the executioner's blade vanished. The people screamed. It seemed his reputation preceded him. He sent the guards into a particularly hot volcano in a land known for its desolation and horror. They had hurt her. He took Cora into his arms, but she didn't seem to recognize him.

"This is Cora. _My_ bride. You who have hurt her will suffer. You who have betrayed her will die. Anyone who attempts to hurt the Dark Queen again will suffer far worse. Are there any questions?" The typical playful, mocking tone in his voice was gone, replaced with pure fury. They hurt his Cora, and he was nothing if not possessive. They had hurt his property; that was unacceptable. He flicked his hand at the crowd, drinking in the chorus of screams that came from them. Their blood was being turned into burning oil, flowing through their veins and tearing them apart. Some even caught fire, forced to burn alive. It was a beautiful display of agony. They had hurt her. That was all she could think. They had hurt her, they had hurt her... He had hurt them.

The royal family had been dragged out of the castle by invisible bindings. He smiled as pure exhilaration flowed through him. What could he do to hurt them? So many things... Surely Cora would appreciate anything he did to them once she was back in her typical state of mind. A whip's crack against flesh rang out through the air, but there was no whip. There was blood, however. He liked the sound of it drip-dropping onto the platform. He breathed in the scent, letting out a giggle. This was becoming fun. The drops of blood became pools as deep gashes showed up on each and every royal. He'd bleed them dry. The screams began to quiet as the body count rose. The royals fell down as they died, bones breaking and snapping as they hit the ground. He knew Cora would have appreciated the sounds not from bending, as she had once wished for, but he made certain each and every neck broke in its fall. Henry was the last to fall, his eyes still on Cora.

There would be no ceremony to these deaths. He left them all where they were, pulling Cora back into his arms. She hadn't seemed to notice his attack on those who'd hurt her, but she had known he was protecting her. She nuzzled her head against his chest, seeking comfort. He just held her closer, infusing a touch of magic to lull her to sleep. It was not a peaceful sleep, but it had to be better than reality. There was nothing he could do for her until he got back to his castle. So long as he could get her there intact, everything would be alright. He hated the thought of using magic to transport her to his castle, but there was no choice. It would take weeks to get there on horseback, months on foot. She needed to be there as soon as possible. It was not smart for anyone to transport while unconscious, but he doubted much more harm could come to her. Reluctantly, he transported them, holding her against him as though she was likely to disappear.

He laid her out on his bed, pulling the covers over her freezing figure. He doubted they could help much, but he had to do something for her while he tried to figure out what best to use to cure her damaged mind. Only purity could purify the soul, and he was the antithesis of purity. He could not help her this way, with the form of magic whose only price was attachment to another's soul already so closely linked to his own. Dark magic would have to do the trick. The herbs were all there in his lair, but he hesitated. No one had ever made such a potion before, but the herb's properties ought to be enough to do the proper thing when combined. He knew that he could do it, and if it would help her, he had to. Bloodroot, cypress, fennel, linden... he crushed the herbs with a mortar and pestle, adding a bit of salt into the mix. Salt was the purest element in the world as well as an extremely good conductor of magic. He would make a tea out of it to give to her. She could surely never drink the mixture on its own.

The water was set above the fire to boil, and he went in to check on her. She was still in her magically-induced slumber, but it seemed that she had finally entered into good dreams, for she was less fitful. That was good at least. Perhaps he had overestimated her trauma. There was no need for him to use all of his ingredients unless she truly needed it. She may well need it more later. We woke her up, releasing the magic's hold on her and gently shaking her. She stirred, but did not wake. His fervor increased until she opened her eyes.

"Rumple." She clung to him, tears pouring out of her eyes. This onslaught of emotion was welcome, far better than the vacancy she had displayed before. The problem was that it never seemed to stop. Her tears kept coming, even as her breathing grew ragged. He feared she would make herself sick. He couldn't stand seeing her like this, and he knew he would have to give her the potion. Even if he'd rather not. He pulled himself out of her firm grip, gently separating their bodies. "I'm going to fix tea."

His voice was peculiar as he said it, so abrupt yet so definitive. He moved away from her, trying to ignore the pain that had come across her face as he pulled away. Soon, none of that pain would be able to hurt her anymore. His head filled with the screams of thousands, desperately pleading for the Dark One to make a deal, but he could not afford to listen to them right now. The water had been boiling for some time before he returned to it, and quite a lot had simply boiled off. There was enough left to serve his purposes, however. He added the mixed herbs to the water, using magic to adjust the texture. Then came the hard part. He sat down before beginning, knowing this would be horribly draining. What he was about to do took more magic than he had used in total in perhaps two centuries. But for her... he would do anything.

The combination of things he had to use in order to infuse the proper spell in the tea was vast and diverse. Happy memories, terrible memories... a spell like that which he planned to enact required sacrifice. He thought of the first time he had held his son, the child's little hand wrapping around his own larger one. He cherished it as it entered his mind and then cast it away. He was struck with a moment of blinding misery for a loss he could not remember and then it was gone. He didn't even notice the loss once it was gone. Thoughts of torment entered his mind, torturing others, piles of bodies, and yet the memory that echoed through his mind, torturing his every waking moment was one of his son. His hand losing its grip on Bae's, refusing to follow him. This one he needed, but without it, Cora would most assuredly find a way to end her own life. He couldn't lose her. He'd already lost Bae, and he could not lose his one true love for the sake of a slim possibility of finding his son once more. Without her, there was no possibility. A cry from the bedroom was enough to push him over the edge, banishing the memory from his mind, into the mixture. The final ingredient was always the hardest to give. His most enduring love. With this final ingredient, his son would simply be an object he'd had one day and lost the next. A brief disappointment easily forgotten. His mind was at war, his son or his bride. Part of him argued that he was Bae's father, but he looked at it with his heart. He remembered each and every first with Cora. Their first meeting, their first kiss, her first night with a man. He couldn't even summon up a single memory of holding Baelfire as a child. His memories had clearly already chosen his beloved Cora. Cora would not live without this potion, but his son had no need of him any longer. He had simply left one day, disappearing for no reason. Clearly the boy had cared nothing for his father; why should his father care for him? Bae had left him. Cora would never do such a thing to him. That was the final straw in the battle. The potion was complete.

It took some goading to get her to drink the 'tea', but she got it down. He had added a drop of sleeping drought that was strong enough to put her to sleep for a full day, maybe two. She dropped off immediately, and the intricately decorated tea cup shattered on the floor. Too exhausted by his overuse of magic to bother cleaning it up, he decided to rest instead. He pulled her limp form to him, resting her head on his chest. Fatigue was starting to take over, and he let out a single yawn before falling asleep alongside her, head filled with dreams of his beloved Cora.


	2. Trouble in paradise

**I don't own OUAT**

Her eyelids were much too heavy when she awoke, beckoning her back into the blissful nothingness that had previously occupied her. She fought against it with a fierceness, the fog obscuring true thoughts and details but not her instincts. She could sense that she had to get up, a ringing in her ears alerting her to that fact if not its reasons. The years of averting trouble had taught her well enough to trust these instincts. Crises had been avoided by twinges in her gut and little voices whispering away inside her mind.

It wasn't a real voice, of course. Not in the natural sense. It was almost as if someone was speaking in a different language in her head, one she could understand but not speak. It was guided by twinges and feelings and intuition that warned her what not to do. Sometimes she decided not to listen to it, and those times always led to a crossroads, one with dangerous consequences down one road, and the happiness she deserved down the other. It sometimes made her wonder if she should simply ignore the voice more often, allow herself to come to these crossroads trusting that she would take the right path. But only once had the path led to the joy the crossroads promised. Rumplestiltskin was a far cry from royalty, but for once that didn't matter.

She'd been brought up in a world without love, where marriages were business transactions and children were mere consequences of the deal, at best used as free labor, at worst bartered off and abandoned. A pang shot through her heart at that thought, at the decision she had never wanted to make. Regret was one of the worst demons that could plague a person. Anger and hatred were productive, pain a form of passion. All of these passions burned off like kerosene, leaving a smell, but nothing more. Guilt was more like tar, clinging to the soul to slowly wreak havoc, never completely fading away. It was not fleeting, and this longevity was not accompanied by a lack of pain. If anything, its tug was harsher than any flame to shoot through a person. Better to be burned at the stake than torn apart, piece by piece, for every day of one's life.

Her unnamed babe may have survived what she had done to her, but there was nothing to say she had fared well or even that she had truly survived. That painful thought was all that kept her from loathing herself for an entirely different matter. She had made an unspoken deal to love him for the rest of her days when he had amended her deal, and it soothed her aching mind. Their child. She could deliver that price, but telling him about the unknown fate of her daughter would have been too much. As she fell for him, it was never far from her mind that she was lying to him. Would he forgive her if she told him of the child? She resolved never to tell him as soon as it was stripped from their bargain. He had trusted her with his heartbreak over his lost son and the heartless mother who had left him. He would never love her if he knew.

These lamentations greeted her as she woke, her instincts telling her to leave bed despite the weight of her heart holding her back. But the voice was screaming, begging, pleading. So she did as it demanded, following a path she was certain she had never before crossed, and yet seemed to know implicitly. As she got closer to her unknown location, she heard voices. Two men, both rather muffled by the closed door, though she could never mistake the sound of her dear Rumple's voice. She pushed open the door, just a crack, grateful that it didn't creak. Rumple faced away from her, seated in a high-backed chair, while a familiar face stared at her from the chair across from Rumple. This man was Marcus, who had been among Leopold's most trusted advisors. She attempted to close the door but it stuck, and she ended up making far more of a spectacle closing it than she had opening it. By the time it was nearly closed, Marcus had jumped to his feet.

"Cora!" Marcus remembered her. Lovely. Rumple jolted up at his words, swinging the door open with a wave of his hand. Face welcoming and arms outstretched, she felt her heart soar looking at him and found herself hiding in those arms, far from the overly-proud sorceress she preferred to show the world. The shock of one of Leopold's men being here at her place of sanctuary was just enough to knock her carefully-constructed mask off, even if only temporarily. Thankfully, no one seemed to expect her to speak.

"You two know each other?" The question was directed at Marcus, who now looked horrified to have said anything at all. It was almost amusing how his face had paled as he stammered about small worlds and a meeting at such-and-such kingdom. Had she not been so fearful that Marcus would tell Rumple of their true acquaintance, she would have enjoyed it. "Never mind that now. I believe we were making a deal."

Marcus immediately sat down, almost as glad to drop the subject as Cora was. Rumple kept his arms around her, but did not sit. She wondered why until he, discreetly, thank goodness, alerted her to what she ought to have already noticed. "Dearie, you really ought to dress."

It was then that she finally realized that she was only wearing a simple, thin nightgown. Though it covered everything, it hid nothing, which is probably part of why Marcus had been so fearful to admit his knowledge of her. She was the Dark One's mistress, if not his whore, in the man's eyes, and he feared the knowledge of her that was clearly in the forefront of his mind. She flushed at the thought of him seeing her so vulnerable and revealed, but was unwilling to leave the unlikely pair, both knowing more than a few things about her she'd rather weren't shared.

"May I watch you deal?" The thought brought a new light to Rumple's eyes, the yellowish-gold starburst surrounding his pupils flooding out over the muddy campus of his irises. He then gave a look of pleasure, but it was a twisted pleasure. Clearly he wanted to use her, not for his own pleasure, but for Marcus's misery. Her nightgown was immediately replaced with an elegant gown of pure gold, no doubt crafted from the gold thread they both conjured. She couldn't help but gasp as a weight fell on her head that she felt certain was a crown. She didn't wish to get her hopes up, but her fingers took it upon themselves to discover the truth. It did indeed seem to be a crown, crafted from some sort of metal that felt cool against her fingertips. When he had created the outfit, it seemed he had also taken it upon himself to fix her bed-rumpled hair. It was strictly tamed in an arrangement of curls and twists that kept her tresses back from her face.

"The Dark Queen, Cora." Rumple said it so simply, ignoring the shock on her face. Marcus immediately responded, dropping to his knees with a delightful little thud. But Rumple was not finished, and what he said next caused her head to spin. "My bride."

"My Lady." Marcus took Cora's hand, touching his lips to it. Normally, such a reaction would have pleased her, but now... She was in such a state of shock that she didn't notice Rumple sitting down and pulling her into his lap. Probably for the best, though, because she was beginning to feel rather dizzy, a combination of the tight corset he had put her in and the strong words he had used to describe her. 'Queen' and 'bride'. But were a bit much to take in. Could she truly marry him? And how could he simply declare her royalty? With his power, he could surely enforce the title, not that she couldn't defend it herself. She could use the power of that title and the magic he had given her to get everything she could ever want.

But what did she want? Power, which he had provided, was the most obvious answer, but the answer her inner voice provided seemed to have a stronger ring of truth. Him. She wanted him above all else. He, who understood her, who saw the most twisted depths of her soul and accepted them as readily as he accepted her beauty and love. His love for her was all-consuming, something she had never before had. So she kissed him, ignoring the fact that he had been in the middle of a sentence and ignoring that they weren't alone. Though surprised at first, he quickly returned her passion, and they went to a world where it was only him and her.

That was the moment in which she decided it didn't matter. None of it. Marcus could say whatever he liked; he could tell all of the kingdoms in the Enchanted Forest of "the Dark One's whore". It wouldn't matter so long as she had him. No one else mattered, so long as he let her into his heart, his home, and his bed. He finally pulled back from her desperate kiss as her head began to feel light from lack of breath. "Your princess will have to wait, dearie."

The word 'princess' broke her from whatever state of peace she was in, shooting a burning malice through her veins. This was one of Leopold's men; surely this princess was the one who she knew. The one she hated above all others. The terrible child who had stolen her chance at royalty, who had been cruel for no reason other than that she wished to torment a poor girl. A petty, jealous girl who had stolen her happiness and claimed it all for herself. "No, no. Continue. I'd like to hear more."

Rumple looked ready to object when she leaned over him, kissing up his neck until she had reached an area just behind his ear. She kissed here once before moving to whisper in his ear. "That is the Princess who has repeatedly offended me. I wish to hear the deal."

He agreed and pulled out a contract, longer than her own had been. What could possibly require so many stipulations? He outlined what Leopold, through Marcus, had asked. It appeared that after many attempts, Princess Eva had been unable to bear Leopold a child. The kingdom feared that the line would die out, as Leopold had been an only child. Interestingly enough, Leopold's closest living relative was King Xavier. If she had stayed with Henry, perhaps she could have ruled both kingdoms. Marcus had come to beg Rumplestiltskin to grant the realm a child. They hadn't discussed the payment yet.

Her heart begged her to leave the woman barren, knowing that Rumple would do so if she asked him. It would be a most painful misery indeed to live all of one's life without bearing child, most especially when it was your only purpose. Royal women were born only to bear the next leader of the realm. If they did not succeed in that, they were cast aside, replaced by mistresses who would bear the King heirs. It would certainly be a most gleeful punishment, but Rumple whispered in her ear as she was about to say as much. "The child is very important. Pick your payment, but I will be making this deal."

Lovely. His insight of the future was so frequently irritating. Choices made to save the future. She preferred to make the future herself. "Give Eva her child on the day she becomes Queen. But as soon as her child can survive without a mother, strip her away. After all, the only payment for life is life." Marcus looked utterly horrified at the idea, at sealing a deal that would kill his Princess. Still, he had been given strict instructions to give the Dark One whatever he wished to allow Eva to bear child.

"Is there nothing else that we can offer you?" Marcus was desperate now, but he was still here and that proved that he needed this deal. He would sign off on it if no other offer was presented.

"Cora was right, dearie. Life for life." She smiled, straightening up more on his lap, looking as stately as she could in her position. More Queen that whore, surely. She stared straight into Marcus's eyes, watching the defeat flood them. Had he been dealing with just Rumple, he surely would have offered some other life, but knowing what he did of Cora's relationship with Eva, he knew she would not allow any offer to be made. "Do we have a deal?"

Marcus's head sunk, knowing that there was no way out of this. So long as Cora was whom he dealt with, he had no other option. But... perhaps he could make the Dark One deal. Make him ignore his wife. "Dark One, I offer you information about the Lady Cora."

Cora immediately flushed with anger and fear. This was the moment she had tried so desperately to avoid. She wanted Rumple not to know, because if he knew... He could never love a woman who had abandoned her child. But she knew that the more she protested, the more he would recognize what Marcus said as truth. She kept her tone as even as she could with as fast as her heart was racing, and she spoke. "What could you possibly have to say about me that my dear lover does not already know?"

"Your child." Even though she had expected it, she couldn't help her heart speeding up even more, beating in every part of her body so loudly that she was sure both men could hear its pumping. Marcus's eyes were triumphant on hers, and she could tell by Rumple's shifting of her in his lap that he at least partially believed it.

"I don't have a child." Her voice was betraying her, going higher than it typically did just to spite her. Marcus didn't need to say anything else; she had just signed her own death.

"Cora, go to your room." His voice was very tight, and she worried for what he would do if she disobeyed. She stood up with as much dignity as she could summon, and slowly left the room, hearing Rumple change her original deal. All of Marcus's knowledge of _her_ for the child. It seemed that life for life had been a lie. It was merely something he liked to say to get what he wanted. Out of all of his clients, including her. Firstborn child to save her life. She had been destined to die, and he would only change that destiny if she gave him a life. It was crushing to find out that it was all a lie. Her heart had almost stopped when he sent her away, knowing that he could never want her once he knew. Her instincts had gone silent, which left her in more of a predicament than simply being sent away by her love. She had no idea where she was.

She had tried to keep track of where she was going on her way to this godforsaken room, but she had lost track after a few turns. It was quite a distance; she remembered that, but she could not figure out how to go about getting there. So she just continued to wander the halls, as lost on the inside as she was on the outside, knowing he would find her when he was through with Marcus. When he was ready to dispose of her in one way or another. She didn't know if she could handle yet another rejection from a man, most especially one she had promised her soul to. They still had a deal for her child, but he was the master of loopholes. He would find a way to be rid of her if he wanted, which he surely would. Shame and self-pity warred inside of her, and she didn't attempt to make them stop, so overcome by the one man who had made her life crumble at her feet. At some point, she realized that she had stopped walking, just curled up on the dirty stone floor sobbing. There was no way out. He would kill her or simply throw her back out with the trash. She would rather he killed her.


	3. A Meeting of Souls

**I don't own OUAT**

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There was a gnawing sense in his stomach from what he had just been told. A part of him that he did not understand was raging at him, at _her_ for abandoning a child, but that angry part was buried by his concern for her and by a stronger, louder anger. A more profound one. Why didn't she tell him? There was so much that he had shared with her of his life, so much he thought he knew of hers.

He thought back to that first day when he had asked for her child. She had been suspicious when she read the contract, her voice holding a sharp edge as she said 'first-born child'. When he had said 'she', Cora had grown tenser. What he had taken as a foolish girl forgetful from fear was the most telling piece of all. She had been frightened, but apparently not for her life or from the shock of him appearing from nowhere. It was fear that he would ruin this golden opportunity for her. That he knew her secret.

No wonder she had been more relaxed after his insult. He had assumed that the cause for that had been embarrassment, a need to prove to him that she was indeed clever. Oh, how his assumptions were wrong! She had been cleverer when she looked the fool. How long had she been lying to him? For as long as they had been together, he was sure. He stormed off to her rooms, only a small suite, but one made specifically for her. _Her rooms_, which he had made for her to stay in until they married. How far off that idea seemed now.

The sinking, gnawing feeling in his stomach grew, changing from disgust into worry. She wasn't here. It struck him that if she had left, history would be repeating itself. A wife gone, taking a child with her. Worry and sorrow mingled with his anger, lessening it to a less violent rage. Would she leave him so easily? He had put his whole heart, his whole being into loving her. Was he a fool? Had she simply used his affections to get what she wanted? She was not that cruel, he was certain. Though her darkness rivaled his own, so too did her capacity to love. She loved him. He refused to believe otherwise.

A simple location spell revealed that she was still in the castle, though not anywhere she had any business being. She was at the far end of his castle, past the entrance in one of the myriad of hallways that led to the kitchen and dungeons. Had she gotten lost while leaving him, or was something more going on? He had to know. A puff of red, sulfuric smoke puffed up around him to take him to where she was. It was not the only way of transportation, but it was the fastest. In the moments that it took for the smoke to clear, making his stinging eyes tear up and blur his vision, he couldn't help but see her wounded body and broken spirit that he had done so much to get rid of. Was it possible he had broken her again?

The smoke finally cleared, leaving his eyes burning but usable. He saw her limp body on the floor, gold dress torn and eyes puffy and red. She had been crying. This image was too similar to the one that had taunted him just moments before. He cradled her sleeping form in his arms, upset by the position that was rapidly growing familiar to him. A woman in his arms should have been a good thought: her laughing and trailing kisses across his neck as he carried her over the threshold into their new lives together, into the bedroom they would share, into the spot in his heart that had been vacant for so long. His footsteps were as light as he could make them, doing his best to prevent the echoing noise of his boots on the hard stone floor.

Walking to her room was out of the question. The castle was large enough that walking from one end to the next would take the better half of an hour. He took her to his own instead, which was specifically placed close to the doors in case of intruders. It was not yet prepared for company, as he did not spend much time there. A bedroom's only purpose was sleeping and other, far more interesting, occupations, but he had not had such pleasures in quite some time. Thus, the room was barren, only containing the bed, a hard mattress with thick maroon coverings, and a dark nightstand. The next room over had a sink, mirror, and wardrobe for dressing, but this room had its singular purpose. He took care to place her under the covers, as he had noticed her shivering terribly against him at some point in her sleep. Whether from the cold or some unknown horror, he could not tell, but he hoped it was the first. That was something easily enough fixed. What her own mind conjured up may or may not be.

He strode over to the nightstand that held a single candle, snapping his fingers to light the flame. It glowed white and blue, hotter than the ordinary spark. Within a few minutes, the room had grown considerably warmer, and the flickering light was strong enough for him to clearly see her. Because of its central location, the room had no windows, a fact he lamented at the moment. To be able to see her perfectly would calm his nerves some as he waited for her to awake. He summoned a wooden chair to sit on while he waited for her eyes to open.

* * *

Naturally, her words began after his eyes had flickered shut. They snapped back open at the sound, and a part of him mourned being pulled from what would have been a very pleasant, if brief, escape from this trouble. He loved her, more than he had ever loved anyone else, and it made him vulnerable. Every time she was unwell, it hurt him. Each time she betrayed him, it was like running his dagger down his flesh, just cutting deep enough to break skin, but not so deep as to sever the nerves and stop the pain. Loving her was a torture that he was addicted to taking, a craving that he was unable to control.

"Rumple?" Her words were followed by a small sniff, no doubt her simply breathing through a nose stuffed from crying. The little sound was heartbreaking, a clearer sign than any words she could have said that she was hurt. But by what? By his casting her aside, by her own guilt at her actions? He needed to understand. Why was she crying, why had she lied, could he trust her again?

"Why didn't you tell me?" Her face crumpled, perfectly visible since she had woken. The candle was casting off terribly bright rays now, illuminating the whole room perfectly. She wrapped herself tighter in the bed coverings, trembling once more. It was easy enough to see through her eyes that it was not from the cold, as he had hoped and as she was trying to show. She was in pain, and he wanted nothing more than to help her, but he couldn't do that. Not until he got some answers. He opened his mouth to repeat the question when her voice, quiet and broken, though it was, gave an answer.

"She's probably dead." A choked laugh came from the bed a moment after, and once again she was crying. There were so many things he wanted to do, to say. He wanted to pull her into his arms and tell her that everything was alright, wanted to kiss her head, brush aside an errant strand of hair, and tell her he loved her forever, no matter what. But something held him back.

"That isn't what I asked you." It frightened even him how cold his voice was, how emotionless. That was not what he wanted to show her, that each time they fought he would give up on her. He offered her a handkerchief as an unspoken apology, his own pride too strong to consider actually saying the words. He still needed his answers.

"I knew that you would hate me for abandoning my child. You killed your wife for it. And I-" She took a moment to blow her nose, the peasant showing through the gold dress and the crown. "I love you too much to be able to live with you hating me."

That was all he needed to hear. Even if it was a lie, even if every single word that fell from her lips from that first day in the tower to her death day was a lie, the words 'I love you' were words he could never ignore. He had not heard them from a woman in so long, and though he knew how quickly that love could turn to pitch, he knew that, just as he had with Milah, he would take her in his arms each time she said them.

"I killed my wife because she abandoned me. Not because of our child." He finally took her into his arms fully, pulling her close against him and kissing her head as he had envisioned moments before, unable to put her off any longer. His leather-clad arms curled around her small form, for once in comfort rather than for the sake of fixing something horrible. Though, he supposed, that was exactly what he was doing. Her heart was so fragile, so easily broken despite her dark thoughts, despite her secrets and lies.

Any woman so broken by the killing of a vile man had to be treated with utter care, loved by one who understood just who she was and how much she deserved. Her trembling ceased a she held her, neither saying another word, but sharing a silence that was comfortable rather than tense with unspoken words. Rather than guarding their minds and souls from one another, they were finally opening to each other at the same time, neither meeting a wall when they look for the other, neither guarding their own thoughts from their lover.

It was a meeting of souls unlike any other, a woman forgotten or abused by others for all her life joining with a man so many called soulless. She thought of her daughter and her guilt for getting rid of the poor child, and her lover thought of ways to comfort her and let her know that he didn't blame her. Each sob he treated with a hug and kiss, allowing her to release all of her pain without judging, without flinging it back at her as so many others would do.

Marcus had not simply told him that she had been with child or that she had abandoned the child. He told the deeper story behind why Cora so desperately wanted to be rid of the princess. And he was the one who had saved the girl's life. He had betrayed his own lover, allowing suspicion to cloud his judgment and keep him from seeing how much she needed him to stand beside her.

They spoke no more that night, trading thoughts and affection for hours before Cora fell asleep in his arms, curled up in his bed. He held her, sending her pleasant dreams whilst trying to ignore that small voice that had raged at her earlier for abandoning a child. He had thought himself rid of the voice, a child's voice that pleaded with him, calling him Papa and telling him how he needed him. The child screamed at Cora for abandoning her child as he had been abandoned, but he could not understand the pain of it.

The voice summoned a loss that he could not explain inside of himself. He thought perhaps it had to do with his own father abandoning him, running away from him so as not to have to care for him anymore. His father had been a terrible man, leaving him so that he could be free to his own delusions. Cora's reasons had been far different. He understood. So why did the voice persist?


End file.
